


The Half-Opened Door

by clutzycricket



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Established Pining, F/M, Fluff, I have been reading a lot of Mary Balogh lately, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, is that a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 18:46:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16289816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/clutzycricket
Summary: With the War for the Dawn over and peace mostly restored, King Aegon Targaryen must choose a wife. Widowed Sansa Stark, in King's Landing to support her brother's rule in the North, is wondering what is going on with her new King.





	The Half-Opened Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/gifts).



> Title from Robert Browning and his letters to Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
> 
> For SecondStarontheLeft for her birthday.

 

Even after the War, the King was still a man given to laughter.

Not revelry, precisely- King Aegon was not so heedless in his pleasures as Robert Baratheon had been. He faithfully attended his audiences and council meetings alike, often shadowed by his lady mother or Lord Garlan Tyrell, with whom he'd fallen into an easy friendship.

Lady Sansa Stark was not entirely certain where she fell in all this. It was far better than the last time she had been in King's Landing- Margaery was speaking with her again, at least as much as she spoke with anyone, she wore dresses that fit, and no one was beating her.

She should perhaps have higher standards than that. But with the Wall collapsed and the Others defeated, Bran was now Lord Paramount with Arya, Lady Mormont, and Lord Manderly helping him plan the rebuilding of Winterfell. Sansa, finding herself a bit adrift in her home, had let herself be talked into going south to represent the North at Court. And the King did listen to her council.

She finished brushing out her hair- she was wearing it loose, rather than the loose twisted knot pulled to the side of her head that the Princess Rhaenys favored, or the Princess Elia's faintly old fashioned pile at the top of her head.

She gave herself a cautious look in the mirror- the neckline of her gown hid the sword slash on her shoulder, from when Petyr had fallen and the Vale nearly fell into disarray, and she smoothed it over just to make certain it didn't show. The scars along her back and her ribs were always hidden by her gowns, as she did not wear the Essosi styles that someone was trying to make stylish here. She had a fair face and a good shape, both of which were useful here. There was no need to complicate it by reminding everyone of her past.

She took a deep breath and left her chambers, the ones overlooking the godswood if she stood on her toes. It had been meant as a kindness, she supposed- Princess Rhaenys was a truly kind woman, and had been the one to plan where she would stay.

She headed towards the throne room, wondering what would be discussed today.

 

~

 

Aegon was trying very hard to seem like a proper king. He was a grown man of one-and-twenty, who had survived Lannisters, sellswords, and the near end of everything. Aside from his sister and perhaps Lady Shireen, he was the last remaining candidate for the throne. His mother and Lady Ashara ensured that he had a solid grounding in accounts, laws, and languages, while Rhaenys had an uncanny ability to overhear things she was not supposed to and pass them to him. He had learned swords and other weapons from infrequent visits from his uncle, who had also arranged tutors for him.

He had, in short, been very thoroughly trained for this.

Of course, the Others had not been part of his training, but he had managed to survive that. And they had been expecting a great deal of rebuilding to be needed.

He looked at the next set of petitioners, who had made his mother's eyes widen briefly and Rhaenys give a rueful smile.

They were a family of glassblowers from Myr, a couple and their three children.

“I was freed- my father released me upon his death,” the man said. He was gaunt, with faint burn scars along his hands and face. “My wife, however, and my children were not. My half brother was not...” he tilted his head and gave a bitter smile. “He was not fond of me.”

Lady Sansa, from the front bench, looked a bit haunted and regretful, perhaps thinking of her own half brother, who died when the Wall fell. Her eyes, which always had faint shadows under them, were watching the children.

Rolly Duckfield raised an eyebrow. Lord Connington had been furious when Rolly was his first Kingsguard appointment, but his mother had said that the positions should be used for alliances and reward both. And Rolly had earned that loyalty many times over.

He also knew Aegon long enough to know that Aegon was in fact going to make the decision based on trying to make Lady Sansa smile. The lady had been married twice- first to Tyrion Lannister, which had been annulled twice, to be certain, and the second to the late Lord Harry Hardying, who had died at the hands of Lyn Corbray. And despite the stories of how badly she had been treated at the Lannister Court, she still walked through the Keep with her head held high and remarkably little bitterness.

“I would have you stay, then, as our Kingdoms do not tolerate that practice,” Aegon said, watching Lady Sansa carefully. “I also believe that your craft is one that will find great honor here, as far-eyes will be of great use to our ship captains and fleets, and glass gardens will be a welcome relief for winters.”

Lord Redwyne nodded at that from his spot behind Lady Sansa- his daughter was wed to Lord Devan, who had been granted the Rock as a compromise. Lord Tywin's line could not be allowed to rule the West, and Lord Tyrion was still reviled as a kinslayer. Lord Redwyne was also Master of Ships, and was no doubt imagining what he could do with a steady supply of far-eyes.

Lady Sansa was also looking thoughtful, no doubt imagining how useful more glass gardens could be in the North.

Mother looked at her children and shook her head.

 

~

 

“Myr will be wroth with us,” Mother said, and Rhaenys looked at her brother and raised her eyebrows. She would not mention her brother's fascination with the Stark girl, not unless he managed to properly start courting her. Mother had been hurt greatly by their father's flight with Lady Sansa's aunt, and the torments that had resulted.

Though, she thought with a hint of bleak humor, it wasn't as if Aegon could give her any more white hairs. Princess Elia's hair had begun to turn when Rhaenys was very small, and had been entirely white by the time Aegon was ten.

“Myr is exhausted from their wars with Tyrosh and Lys,” Aegon pointed out. “They will not send a great war to us over a few glassblowers. Besides which, they are trying to arrange a match with Rhaenys, if you recall correctly.”

“They are not getting a match with Rhaenys,” Mother said, vehemently enough that Aegon held his hands up.

“Of course they will not,” Aegon said. “Rhaenys is far too useful in court for me to send her away.” He sent her a wary look. Mother was possibly the strongest person they knew- she had fled through the Keep bleeding and terrified, clutching Aegon and with an injured Rhaenys clinging to her skirts, going to the _Cinnamon Wind_ and Sarella's mother and fleeing to Norvos.

Despite that, Mother had woken from nightmares for years, and worried terribly whenever she could not find them. Part of that was her own scars, down her arms, from where a Lannister man with a sword had tried to slash Aegon in two. Rhaenys, missing half an ear and with a slice down her side, had probably been another large part.

Rhaenys would never marry outside the Kingdoms. Marrying inside the Kingdoms would be difficult enough.

“I am assuming you are sending them to Arianne?” Rhaenys asked, picking up her writing kit. She'd send a raven warning her cousin. “I do know enough that glass requires a great deal of sand, and it would be them or the coast just off of Oldtown.”

Aegon sighed. “I can keep them hear for a week to see who will argue about it, though the Riverlands should have some sandy areas along the rivers. I will speak with Matthias and see what he needs for a workplace.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Now, do we have anything else I should worry about?”

“Your wedding,” Mother said, brightening. “We need to forge alliances- things are very tentative in some areas, and good news to share will help.”

“I will not have waste and excess when my subjects are still rebuilding,” Aegon pointed out, rearranging himself on the chair so his legs dangled over the intricately carved wood.

Rhaenys hid a smile- Aegon had always been most preoccupied with what was fair. It had gotten him in an alarming amount of fights with a stick when he'd been a child, and fists and daggers later.

“Perhaps he should choose a bride, first?” Rhaenys pointed out. Aegon glared at her.

“Devan Lannister has two sisters,” Mother said, with a faint bit of distaste.

“A Lannister queen would be a disaster at this point,” Rhaenys pointed out.

“There would be rumors about her children even if she was like a septa,” Aegon agreed, tapping his foot.

“Desmera Redwyne is marrying Devan Lannister, and Lord Hightower has no daughters,” Mother sighed. “There is also the Tyrell girl...”

“She probably poisoned at least one of her three kings,” Aegon parried. “Mother, really.” He visibly held back from what he clearly wanted to say- what he would have said to her or Duck or even Drey Dalt, asking if they wanted him dead so badly.

Mother would not react well to that joke.

“Myranda Royce, from the Vale,” Mother sighed. “But the Vale lords are so divided I doubt that would help. There is always Shireen Baratheon...”

“She's four and ten,” Aegon said dryly. “Do you remember that merchant who wanted to take Rhaenys to wife when she was four and ten? Do you remember the names you called him?”

“Lady Sansa is seven and ten, sister of the Lord Paramount of the North, niece of the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and beloved cousin of the Lord of the Vale,” Rhaenys said, because _clearly_ Aegon was never going to have the courage to say it himself.

Also, Rhaenys was rather more used to Mother's annoyance. Aegon took after Mother's good days, perhaps with a less poisonous very . Rhaenys was the one who had the solemn moods and was naturally bookish, reminding her too much of their father.

Uncle Oberyn, though, liked to say she had her grandmother's will, which she clung to in her dark moments, when Aegon left strawberries and lemons by her bed so she would eat something before he coaxed her out into the world.

“Lady Sansa,” Mother said, looking conflicted.

“She's one of how many children?” Rhaenys pointed out. “Heirs should not be a problem.”

“She has an incredible memory for detail,” Aegon added, eyes shining as he straightened up. “I have been speaking with her- she was the one who explained the problems in the Vale, not to mention the complications about the Riverlands inheritances.”

Mother gave them both a disapproving look. “You both already selected her.”

“Not apurpose,” Aegon admitted. “But I admit that she would be my choice regardless.”

“Aegon is not quite as subtle at times as he wished,” Rhaenys said. Also, he confided quite a bit in Duck.

“You should speak to her quietly about it, first,” Mother said, finally.

 

~

 

Sansa was in the godswood when she heard the crunching of twigs under boots, and looked up to see the King smiling at her.

She stood, shaking her skirts out as she curtsied. “Your Grace,” she said.

He took her hands and helped her rise from her curtsey. “Lady Sansa,” he said, smiling so widely that his dark eyes crinkled at bit at the corner. He was sun-kissed, always, but he'd apparently been raised on ships and with sellswords, lending him a faintly piratical air. Some of the maidens had proven very susceptible to that.

Sansa was not prone to showing such feelings any more.

“I had a pr... a question, to ask you,” he said, stumbling a bit over the words. “And hoped to speak to you in private, first.”

“Your Grace?” Sansa willed herself to stay calm.

“It has been put forth that I should take a wife,” he said, after a long, heart-stopping moment. “And so I decided to make a list of qualities that I would need in one. As someone who has known the court very well, you would understand this list as well as anyone.”

“I would know a few of those qualities, I suppose,” Sansa said. “Though perhaps Lady Margaery would know them better.”

“Ah...” King Aegon pulled a face, which was not terribly regal and made him seem much more approachable.

Oh, no.

“Fear of the Queen of Thorns?” Sansa asked, trying not to smile. He would not order her beaten for making a joke, especially one that was not entirely at his expense. The king liked jokes, she'd noticed, and she occasionally ventured some when he spoke to her about the North or the Vale.

“There is that,” Aegon admitted. “Though Lady Margaery looks at me as if she is not sure if she wants to wed me or flee to Quarth. I fear that if I was to ask her for any sort of advice, she may lose her composure and start flinging things at me.” He settled himself on a fallen log and crossed his legs, looking up at her. “Besides, I find that I greatly prefer your perspective on most matters, Lady Sansa.”

She placed herself on a stone, trying to keep her balance. “Well, you will need a well connected wife,” she said.

“My mother said much the same thing,” Aegon agreed. “Most likely I will need a wife from one of the regions where they have not proven to be terribly fond of Targaryen rule.”

“She will need to be adept with people,” Sansa added, thoughtful. “She will need to work with both your lords and ladies and ambassadors from various lands.”

Aegon nodded. “That has been well placed in my considerations. Any other matters?”

“She will need to be of an appropriate age,” Sansa said, surprising herself with her fierceness. “She cannot be a child.”

“I was thinking seven and ten and older,” Aegon agreed. “Someone with dignity and grace, as well.” He smiled again. “It will balance out my occasional moments of thoughtlessness and impulse.”

“You are a paragon compared with your predecessors,” Sansa said without thinking.

“Yes, but that is not exactly a terribly hard thing,” Aegon shook his head. “Though it does make a great deal of my day to day interactions simpler.”

Sansa wondered at what he was trying to say. He was known for being as like to ask advice or information from a lady as a lord, a fact that stirred some mutterings, especially from certain Vale or Stormlords.

But she almost thought he was trying to do something else. “Do you have a lady in mind, your grace?”

“I do,” the King said, seeming to turn a flaming red. “There is a lady of seven-and-ten, who has seen a great deal of these kingdoms and forged ties with most of them, who is thoughtful and clever with people, though she does not always seem to think that.” He paused, and cocked his head. “She probably will adjust that with time, though, which is for the best. She is possessed of a remarkable dignity, though life has done its best to wear her down, and despite it all she has not lost an innate sense of kindness.” He closed his eyes. “She is remarkably lovely, as well, enough I may occasionally talk myself over a cliff.”

“Does this paragon have a name?” Sansa asked, feeling her throat close. There was something about the pleased expression on his face, as if he was imagining something very pleasant.

“Well,” the King said, standing up smoothly. “I believe you already know it.” He looked terribly uncertain. “Being as it is, well... your own. Name. I mean you.”

Sansa stared at him. “Me?”

“If you will have me,” Aegon said, stammering a bit.

“If...” Sansa blinked. Her previous proposals... her choice in those had been limited, though she had been naively pleased to be the wife of a handsome prince, once.

Perhaps being married to a handsome prince who was also thoughtful would end better than that betrothal had.

“I have something to tell you, first,” Sansa said, forcing the words out and pretending she was alone. “I have not... I have not told anyone this, yet.”

To his credit, he looked at her seriously as he nodded. “I will listen.”

“You may not wish to marry me, after this,” Sansa continued, not being able to stop herself from kicking at some leaves.

“...You want to marry me?” he asked, blinking. “Truly?”

“If you still want to, after this,” she said. The look on his face, right before he'd asked her...

“It would take a great deal to change my mind,” Aegon said, seating himself again. “Plotting to murder me, perhaps.”

“Not you,” Sansa said, remembering. She started her story with Joffery's wedding, telling of her flight and the missing amethyst, of her poor fool who trusted her and his death, of Petyr's confession. She continued her story at the Vale, standing and pacing as she told him of her aunt's descent into madness, her revelation about Jon Arryn's death, and Petyr pushing Lysa out the Moon Door.

She continued to speak, not looking at Aegon's face as she told him about the sweetsleep, how she ignored the hints about how dangerous it was, did not think about how Petyr was trying to slowly murder her cousin. About his plan to marry her to Harry Hardying, to divide the Lords Declarant, and what she had overheard about the plan to store grain and hoard it away from those who need it.

Though he knew the last part- she had been coldly furious, after Harry's death. She had not loved him, and he had not loved her, but he had not deserved his death.

“On my wedding night, when I came out in my maiden cloak,” she continued, eyes closed, “I saw Lady Anya, Harry's grandmother, look at Littlefinger and she must have known.” Myranda had gotten some of the hedge knights to keep Petyr away from Sansa, so she had known, the way she had taken over more of Robin's care.

“She declared that the Knights of the Vale could not stand against all of the other kingdoms...” she continued. “And that there were rumors about my brothers, that they were still alive.” That poor brave woman. “While they might want to defend my father's daughter, they would not go to their deaths on a foolish quest, not when they could protect me better there.”

“Baelish would not have been happy,” Aegon said, looking grave.

“He was furious- he thought he had bought and paid for her loyalty,” Sansa said. “And if there had not been other rumors...” She gave him a wary look. The rumors had been of his continued existence, and the return of his late aunt.

“He had rushed it,” Aegon guessed, “and misplayed his hand.”

Sansa nodded. “He said he intended on using the knights of the Vale so I could go _home_...” Her voice broke at that, the promise that had kept her going, that she could be safe at Winterfell.

“I tried to warn Harry, I told him that Petyr would do something, but he laughed, he did not believe me, and then Ser Shadrich...” Sansa took a deep breath. “He had been waiting in the bedchamber, hidden in a wardrobe. I never knew for certain if Petyr had sent him in, wanting to try for another husband for me, one who would be more grateful.”

“Me?” Aegon gave a wry look.

“Perhaps,” Sansa said, rubbing her shoulder. “There was a reward for my capture, you see, and while someone broke down the door, Ser Shadrich had me by the throat.” She fixed her gaze on a tree, not wanting to see him. “I screamed and screamed and Ser Lothor, Petyr's man, he saved me.” She traced the scar on her shoulder one last time. “He did not save Harry, though. We were both... well,” Sansa forced herself to look at him. “There was an attempt at the bedding ceremony.”

“Unarmed and undressed,” Aegon sighed. “Well, I for one would not like to be stripped bare before all the ladies of the court.” He gave her a teasing grin. “I already hear enough of what the supposedly proper ladies of the court say about my body.”

Sansa blushed at that- while she watched her tongue carefully, she did have to agree with a great deal of those comments.

“And then Littlefinger died himself,” Aegon continued. “Mya Stone killed him, did she not?”

“To save me,” Sansa said, closing her eyes. “He was taking liberties, and his plan was starting to unravel after he was recalled to King's Landing, so he wanted to flee with me, when I did not wish it. He had too many plans, I think. He was named Lord of Harrenhal, his financial trickery was unraveling faster than he anticipated...”

“Mother might have had something to do with that,” Aegon admitted. “She offered a proposal to the Iron Bank, promising to prioritize their loan if I was king. Since Cersei refused to pay...”

“I see,” Sansa said. “And by that point, Dorne was in your grasp, and you were working with...”

“My aunt, and her dragons,” Aegon finished. “She would have liked you, I think, though perhaps not understood you. She was never the best with needing to adapt her plans.” He sighed. “Sansa, my lady, this does not change my feelings.”

“I just told you...” Sansa could not finish.

“That you were a child, who tried to trust adults who should have had reason to help you,” Aegon raised an eyebrow. “I am not that much older than you, I do remember that feeling. I...” He paused. “I am more than aware of the compromises that you must make to survive, when it seems all the world wishes for your death.” He gave her a bleak look. “I did duels for money, for three years before I arrived. I fought men who had no choice, and some of them did not leave the ring. My sister...” He looked at the sky. “That is not my story to tell.”

They were silent for a long moment.

“You should be the one to announce it,” Sansa said, finally.

“Tonight, or would you prefer to write your family first?” Aegon asked.

“Tonight,” Sansa said. She was afraid she would lose her nerve if she asked him to wait.

He stood and let out a whoop before kissing her. It was... better than previous kisses she had experienced, as he gently held her so she could get free if she wanted, and he put a hand that moved up from the base of her spine to pull her closer when she did not, and she could feel him smiling.

“Thank you,” he said, after they broke apart.

 

~

 

“You intend on wedding Lady Sansa,” Lord Tyrion asked. He tended to skulk around the corners of the court, drinking more than he ought and being cuttingly clever. Aegon could not send him away, but he admitted to being happier not to speak overmuch to him.

“She has agreed to be my wife,” Aegon said, raising her eyebrows. Sansa had spoken with no particular malice of her marriage to Tyrion, meaning that the man had not laid a finger on her, or killed any of her family, but... she did not speak of him as warmly as she did of Mya Stone, or Margaery, or even his sister.

“I married her, once,” Tyrion said. “My second marriage, ending even more disastrously than the first.”

“I am aware of that,” Aegon pointed out.

“She's broken,” Tyrion said, pouring another glass of wine. “My sister and her shit of a son broke something in her, with the beatings and the tormenting. She holds her head high, but she had everything soft burned out of her.”

“You,” Aegon said, thinking of the lady who was sitting with his mother and deferring to her with grace and... a sort of eagerness, a joy in having someone who wanted to help her, “do not know the lady half as well as you think you do.”

“I was married to her, spent time with her before she fled and left me to face a murder trial,” Tyrion took a gulp of wine. “Thought she was still mooning after Joffery.”

Aegon snorted. “You just keep convincing me that I am right.”

Tyrion gave him a considering look. “Maybe you are.”

 

~

 

The ceremony was simple enough- the bride had a well-earned horror of the Great Sept of Baelor, so he married her in a smaller sept in the Keep, with only a handful of witnesses. Her crowning would be larger, and done in the throne room the next day.

There was a large feast afterwards, with the various lords and ladies as well as many ambassadors, merchants, and others who were invited. Rolly was annoyed at how open it was, but he wanted everyone to see that Sansa had agreed to marry him.

Rhaenys had laughed when he admitted that to her, because his elder sister thought his self-respect needed to be trimmed regularly.

He lead her in the dancing, seeing her grow more comfortable and just happier with everything, speaking easily with his mother and Arianne, dancing with Lord Mace and Rolly, and being a lively center of things.

He had still refused the bedding ceremony.

“May I reclaim my wife,” he asked Garlan, who laughed at him.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the older knight said, before bowing to Sansa. “I have my own wife to get back to.”

Sansa, looking like a vision in white and grey silk, smiled as she took his hands. “This seems to be going well,” she mused.

“Even Rhaenys is enjoying herself,” Aegon mused. His sister was deep in conversation with a dark haired man that he did not recognize, her face lit with enthusiasm. He would need to find out who that was.

“She does have fun,” Sansa said, before ducking her head. “It is just... a slightly different sort of fun. Sisters are like that.”

He shook his head. “I suppose, my queen.” He twirled her around, heedless of the music, letting her rise off the ground and startling a laugh out of her. The others watched in amusement. “I feel you should know- I will never be tied of saying that, my queen.”

Sansa shook her head. “You are utterly absurd, you do know that?”

“I do,” he said, kissing her again. Let the court know that the King was utterly besotted with his wife. It would undoubtedly make things easier for him.

Well, he would enjoy getting to prove it, again and again.

 


End file.
